Page 38 of Deep In Love
I’m all for running when you don’t know what to do in a situation. I’ve never been a fighter, but I’m damn good at fleeing an uncomfortable situation.
“Oh, so he has acrush,” I tease. “Fourth day on the boat and you’ve found yourself a fling.”
“There is nofling,” she yells in a shrill voice. She pauses her spinning to glare at me. “It’s unprofessional to tell me I smell like candy.”
I take a sniff; her perfume is very sweet, like cotton candy. It’s fitting for her—an extension of her kind, welcoming personality.
“You do smell like candy. It’s sweet.” I giggle at my pun, but Sofía does not find it nearly as amusing. “He’ssweeton you.”
Damn, I’m on a roll.
This is much more fun than thinking about my own love life, or lack thereof. All I have is weird tingling when Mateo touches me, and I’d much rather tease Sofía than unpack that novelty.
I have a hypothesis, but it’s not one I’m ready to accept.
“He’s nice, I guess.” She hums as she stacks tube racks on top of each other, creating a small pyramid. “It’s just weird.”
“That he’s flirting with you?” I ask, the question laced with amusement.
She groans, then whispers, “That he’s flirting with me andI kinda like it.”
Her hands fly to cover the blush on her cheeks, and my laughter echoes around the room.
“Flirt back.”
“I can’t!”
“Why not?”
“I-I don’t know.”
Her brow furrows, and she busies herself with random items on the bench. It’s a contemplative silence as I resume my work, and my mind wanders to Mateo. His mussed hair in the morning and how adorable he looks with his CPAP mask on, like he’s cosplaying as a fighter-jet pilot. How he argues with his abuela about audiobooks but continues to listen to the one she picked out, even though he hates every second.
He’s grumbled about Elora and her lack of critical thinking skills since we’ve been on the boat. She’s had quite the impact on him.
I’ve learned more about him in the last four days than I have in the two years since we met, and it’s jarring because what I’ve learned doesn’t feel like enough. It’s an age of discovery where every stone turned leads to something new, something exciting.
It’s a peaceful half hour before she bulldozes into my happy bubble with a highly unprofessional question—ironic, given the reason she’s hiding from Jett.
“So are you and Mateo hate fucking? What’s going on there?” She doesn’t lift her head from opening and closing an Eppendorf tube. “Lotsof tensionbetween you two.”
My first response is to choke on my saliva and hope it sends me to an early grave. When that doesn’t work, I pretend I didn’t hear her probing question and continue my work like she didn’t just send me into a state of disarray.
It doesn’t work, and she asks again.
Hearing it a second time is no less jarring than the first.
My pulse races and my hands sweat profusely beneath the nitrile gloves.
Why would she ask such an insane question? Mateo and I sleeping together is…when did it get so hot in here?
“No.”
My voice jumps an octave from shock.
Yes, that’s what this is—the insane thumping in my chest.
“But you want to,” she says smugly, like she’s caught me with my hand in the cookie jar.
